It is the same sun that

spills over the sacrilegious dance of mortars, bullets, corpses.

Over the plumes of a Muezzin’s call, and

the indifferent desert scape.

The same sun nips

at the exposed skin of men killing children, when

the choice is savagely torn from their hands,

with only sand filled dirges in its place.

It is the same sun that

mingles with the peels of youthful laughter.

The same sun that

warms the couples bathing in adoration,

uncaring of their sweat slickened hands.

The same sun binds the ecstasy life posses,

and a gratuitous hell, only imagined by many.